


untitled

by tigriswolf



Series: written for school [10]
Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: Cinderella, in four voices.





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Written June 12 - 14, 2017 as my final project for the poetry class. 
> 
> I created the Mini-Epic Poem, which combines three separate poems written in three forms: the 2-voice poem, ode, and farewell poem.

You had a lovely childhood,

_What was your life?_

Sister—                                                                                 

 _Sister_ ,

Father and mother who worshipped you,                         

_Why do you look so sad?_

Who gave you everything.                                                   

_Your mother is cruel to me;_

You were happy,                                                                   

_Were you her victim once?_

Sister.                                                                                     

_Oh, sister,_

Oh, I hate you.                                                                                   

 _How I’d weep for you_.

 

 .

 .

 .

I clean the kitchen:

 .

Wash the dishes,

Cloth on the counter,

Soap the tiles.

Scrub until my skin cracks,

My knees ache, my shoulders.

I breathe through the tears.

I breathe, kneeling on the floor.

It hurts as I stand.

I stand and I breathe.

Sweep once everything is done.

 .

For now, the kitchen sparkles.

I’ll clean it again tomorrow.

 .

 .

.

The manor is quiet now;

We’re frightened to break the silence,

To draw Mother’s attention—

She has raged every day since you left

In magic and pearls,

In a gown like stars in a midnight sky.

We never understood everything you did for us;

Now we must do it ourselves.

You smiled even when your fingers must have burned,

When standing still itself sent aches through your bones.

You are gone.

I never imagined this manor without your swift steps,

Your soft voice,

Your hands brushing our hair.

You are gone, sister,

In a palace with servants of your own—

You surely treat them better

Than we ever treated you.

 .

 .

 .

Look at our queen,

                                    Our king!

How she smiles,

                                    How they gleam!

No better monarchs

                                    Have we had!

Long live these two;

                                    Long live their regime!

 

 

 

 


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